


A Peace Offering

by lillupon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Bottom Arthur, Bottom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, First Time, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Top Merlin, Virgin Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 00:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillupon/pseuds/lillupon
Summary: The war against magic is draining Camelot’s resources and decimating her armies. Seeing no end in sight, Prince Arthur offers himself up to the warlock Emrys in exchange for peace.





	A Peace Offering

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Bottom Arthur Fest](http://bottom-arthur.tumblr.com) on tumblr!

Arthur’s search for the rebellion hideout leads him to the Fortress of Ismere in the Northern Plains. He had thought the fortress abandoned, but he is proved wrong when he and his knights step into the tower’s shadow and find themselves trapped inside a blazing ring of fire. 

“Drop your weapons,” Arthur tells his men, unsheathing his sword and tossing it aside. It sinks into the soft layer of powdered snow with barely a whisper. His dagger follows. He raises both palms to show he is unarmed. “I am Prince Arthur of Camelot. I wish you no harm. I have come to speak to your leader,” he calls.

  


* * * 

  
Mordred, the man he was once proud to call one of his knights and whom he trusted with his life, leads him through the fortress corridors.

A constant draft blows through Camelot’s castle even during the spring months. But here, despite the snow storm brewing outside, the cold does not penetrate the fortress walls. Balls of orange light float in the air, radiating warmth and illuminating their way. The work of magic, Arthur thinks uneasily to himself. 

Mordred brings him to a small study. A fire has been lit in the hearth. Books cram every inch of the shelves along the wall and there are stacks of them piled on the floor. By the window is a great oak table with scrolls and parchment scattered across it. 

Arthur stands in the middle of the room and waits, trying not to let his nerves show. Mordred stands a ways off from him. No doubt he will cut Arthur down without hesitation if he deems Arthur a threat. Maybe he wouldn’t even bother with a sword. After all, Arthur knows now it takes only a few uttered words and a flash of gold for Mordred to bring him to his knees.

Arthur clenches his fists at his side, aching for the comforting heft of his sword in his hand, but he had left his weapons outside with his knights. Today, he comes to Emrys in peace.

He has never met the sorcerer before, nor seen him from a distance. He doesn’t know what to expect. What would a man powerful enough to fell an entire kingdom look like? Arthur can only hope that in Emrys’s heart, there remains a sliver of compassion. Or pity. Arthur will take pity, even if it puts a bad taste in his mouth to do so.

It feels like an eternity before the door opens and a dark-haired man enters. He is wearing battle leathers and is draped in heavy furs. Arthur does a poor job of concealing his surprise if Mordred’s smirk is anything to judge by. 

Because this man, if he is Emrys, is far younger than Arthur had expected, closer to Leon’s age than Uther’s, and only a handful of years older than Arthur’s own eighteen years. The man’s face is pale and free of the dirt that streaks Arthur’s own cheeks after half a year at war. With his full lips and a slender build, he looks more like a royal bed warmer than the sorcerer who had single-handedly crushed Camelot’s forces at Camlann. Perhaps that is who this man is—Emrys’s consort. 

The man speaks, dispelling Arthur’s notion. 

“You may leave us, Mordred.”

Mordred’s eyes flicker in Arthur’s direction. “My lord, he is dangerous—”

“I am capable of protecting myself,” Emrys says.

“Of course, my lord.” Mordred bows and exits. 

Emrys turns his attention to him now. Arthur holds his shoulders straight as the other man studies him, frost blue eyes roving over Arthur’s form. 

Finally, Emrys greets him. “Prince Arthur of Camelot. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Arthur tamps down his pride and lowers himself to his knees before Emrys. He bows his head in deference. Licks his dry, chapped lips before he speaks. “I have come to offer myself to you in exchange for peace.” 

Emrys hums consideringly. Arthur chances a glance at the warlock, peeking up at him from beneath his lashes. He finds Emrys looking at him with mild amusement, the corners of his lips ticked up. The firelight dances in his eyes and casts soft shadows across the cut of his cheekbones. 

“Does your father know you are here?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. He… He would not have approved.” 

“I don’t imagine he would. Well, tell me then, Prince Arthur, what am I supposed to do with you?” Emrys drapes his furs over the back of a chair and moves to lean against the edge of the desk. 

“I—” The words catch in Arthur’s throat. He doesn’t know. Vague ideas had swirled around in his head, but he had never lingered on them or allowed them to develop. He had been hoping Emrys would find use for him. A prince should be a valuable spoil of war, after all. “You could kill me?” he suggests hopefully.

Emrys snorts a laugh. “I could do that even if you didn’t walk straight into my fortress. No, your death would serve me no purpose.”

Arthur tries again. “One of the physicians in Camelot has told me about a ritual to open the gates of Avalon. It requires a willing sacrifice of royal blood, and…” he hesitates before finishing, “And I would be willing.”

Emrys looks at him with a raised brow, interest piqued now. “Tempting. However, my work here is not yet done.”

Arthur casts his eyes about the room, searching for something he can use in his negotiations with Emrys. He latches onto the dirt and scuff marks on Emrys’s boots. Humiliation twists in his gut at what he is about to say, but he cannot think of his pride while Camelot suffers. “Perhaps you would find my services useful. I could clean your shoes or polish your armour—anything you required of me.” 

“Your services?” Emrys repeats. “And what would a prince know about serving another person?”

Nothing. He has served Camelot by upholding her virtues and ideals, and by fighting in her name, but he knows nothing about being a manservant. He has never had to dress himself or draw his own baths. But Emrys doesn’t have to know that. “I am a fast learner.” It’s not a lie. Even as a squire, he had to be shown a complicated string of manoeuvers with the sword only once before he could perform it himself.

“Not faster than someone who has been born into a life of service. I have no lack of willing servants, Prince Arthur—servants who would be honoured to attend to me, unlike you.” 

“I have nothing else to give you,” Arthur says, the frustration and helplessness seeping into his voice. He digs his nails into his palms. “You do not want Camelot’s lands or riches. It is not my place to repeal Camelot’s laws against magic, though believe me when I say I have tried to talk my father into doing so.”

“I could take you hostage and demand Uther abolish his laws in exchange for your life.” 

“It would not work,” Arthur says.

Surprise flickers across Emrys’s face. “Your father would leave you to die?”

“My father’s hatred for magic is deep-rooted.” Greater than his love for Arthur. The sting of such knowledge has never eased. It has instead only grown more painful in these times. Uther would not see reason when it came to sorcery, would sooner let his kingdom burn to the ground than allow magic to be practised openly and without consequence within its borders. 

“Manic,” Emrys corrects. “Were he not the king, the people would have written him off as a zealot.”

Arthur ignores the jibe. “I can only offer you myself. I… ” 

He thinks about his vow of chastity, to be upheld until the night of his wedding. During his younger years, when his voice had just started to drop and he lacked the self-control he possesses now, he wore a metal belt that cinched about his waist and locked away his cock and balls. He doesn’t even know what it feels like to be pleasured by his own hand. With the war going on, marriage was low on the list of his father’s priorities and he had yet to arrange a suitable match for Arthur. 

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut. Wonders if he’ll be killed on the spot for insinuating that Emrys prefers the company of men. His voice is but a whisper, strained with shame when he says, “I am untouched.” 

Emrys’s eyebrows rise. “Surprising.”

“But true,” Arthur says. He knows of men who have undertaken an oath of chastity but slept nightly with the whores in the lower town. Some lesser nobles—his friends, he might call them, if a prince could have friends—have tried to tempt him into joining them, but Arthur had always declined.

Emrys stands and walks a slow circle around Arthur, appraising. He’s humming thoughtfully to himself. Arthur feels hopeful and like he might throw up at the same time. For once, Emrys does not immediately reject him, but if it comes down to it, will Arthur be able to bring himself to lie with another man? 

He steels his resolve. He must. There are good men laying down their lives for Camelot. All Arthur has to do is lie down and… He can feel his face growing hot just thinking about it.

Emrys stops before him and takes his chin between his forefinger and thumb, tipping his head up. Arthur doesn’t dare breathe as Emrys rubs a thumb over his lower lip. He feels pinned by the other man’s gaze, naked despite his chainmail and armour. With him on his knees and Emrys towering over him, it affirms how much Arthur is truly at the warlock’s mercy.

“Very well,” Emrys says, letting go of Arthur and taking a step back. “I accept your offer.”

  


* * *

  


Emrys orders for a bath to be drawn in his private chambers. Arthur is stripped naked and scrubbed within an inch of his life by two attendants. It has been weeks since he has had a proper bath; he has been making do with quick washes in the stream. The dirt and grime coating his body slough off, muddying the bath water and leaving his skin smooth and pink. 

Emrys, slouched in his seat, watches with dark eyes as Arthur is prepared. He has since changed into a rich blue tunic and loose pants. The trousers do nothing to hide the outline of his half-hard cock. Arthur swallows thickly, ripping his gaze away from the sight of Emrys’s crotch. 

A servant rubs a bar of soap over his inner thighs. Arthur lets out a surprised yelp when one servant takes his cock in hand, washing it and then holding it aside as he moves to clean Arthur’s balls and taint. The handling is impersonal but no one has ever touched him like this before—he has always preferred to wash his intimate parts himself—and he’s helpless to the way his body reacts. Embarrassed, he squirms away from the touch.

“My lord,” one of the servants says, “should we prepare him for ease of passage?”

Emrys takes a moment to respond. His gaze slides from Arthur’s cock to meet his gaze, lips curved into a wicked smirk. “No, I think I’ll do that myself.”

Emrys’s attention is diverted when Mordred knocks and enters. Mordred’s eyes flicker to Arthur before he informs Emrys that the knights of Camelot grow restless and concerned for their prince. They wish to see him. With a sigh, Emrys heaves himself to standing.

“Our deal,” Arthur reminds him lowly as he walks past.

“You have my word, Prince Arthur.” 

The servants dry him with a towel and rub sweet smelling oils into his skin. He enjoys the process more than he cares to admit, fighting back a sigh as their strong hands massage his sore and aching muscles. 

To his mortification, they have him shaved next. Arthur keeps his eyes firmly closed, unable to bring himself to look as a servant takes a razor to his balls. He holds himself deathly still, fearing that even the slightest movement will see his cock severed from his body. There is no such mishap. The razor rasps over his skin, stripping him of his pubic hair. 

Once the task is done, Arthur feels and looks as bare as a baby. 

Lastly, as though he were a woman, a servant crushes berries and applies it as a tint to his cheeks, lips, and nipples.

By the time Emrys returns, Arthur is laid out on the bed like an offering, cock half-hard despite himself. He hasn’t been able to get the sensation of Emrys’s fingers gripping his chin out of his mind. He thinks about the strength in that hold, thinks about those same lithe fingers coaxing him open, and it makes him shudder.

He wonders what is wrong with him, that he is anticipating this. What kind of prince wants to be despoiled by a man who has ravaged his people? It’s because he’s young, he tells himself. He has thought about sex, curious and fascinated by this thing that he has been denied. But if he’s being truthful with himself, it’s because Emrys, with his dark hair and startling blue eyes and all his power to command at his fingertips, is exactly the kind of man Arthur is attracted to. 

He has no need for the blush that colours his cheeks. His face feels red enough as it is already. He flushes even hotter when Emrys drags an appreciative look down his naked form. Made shy—when he has never felt the need to hide before—Arthur shifts onto his side and moves his thigh to better cover his cock.

“It seems as though I am not the only one looking forward to this,” Emrys comments lightly. 

Arthur doesn’t have anything to say to that. He watches as Emrys pulls his tunic overhead to reveal the lean length of his torso. His eyes are drawn to the trail of dark hair that starts at Emrys’s belly button and disappears into his trousers. To his disappointment, Emrys leaves his pants on. It drives him mad all the same; he can see the subtle swing of Emrys’s cock as he pads towards him.

Emrys takes a seat at the edge of the bed. He nudges Arthur’s hip, tipping him onto his back. Arthur’s cock flops onto his belly.

“You’ve truly never lain with anyone?” Emrys murmurs, his eyes dark with appreciation. He reaches out, running his fingers over Arthur’s chest and belly and arms as though memorising every dip and swell of his body.

A shiver passes through Arthur’s body at the featherlight caresses. “Never,” he confirms, sounding more breathless than he would have liked. He’s caught between embarrassment and arousal. He is no stranger to the envious gleam in men’s eyes when they look upon his riches and privilege and his fair features, but in Emrys’s heavy gaze, there is only admiration and a deep want.

Emrys touch returns to his chest. He circles a nipple with a fingertip, gives it a gentle flick. The nub draws into a taut peak as Emrys’s continues to play with it. Arthur hadn’t known a man’s chest could be so sensitive, but every twist and pull of his nipples sends bursts of pleasure straight to his cock.

Arthur holds the breath in his lungs as Emrys turns his attention lower. Emrys reaches his now hard cock and makes a pleased noise in his throat. Arthur bites down on his lip as lithe fingers fondle his prick and his hairless balls, causing precome to bubble up at the tip of his cock. His skin is still sensitive from being shaved, amplifying the sensation of every touch. He can’t help but push his hips up for more, flushing when Emrys lets out a chuckle. 

Arthur lifts his hips up obligingly when Emrys wedges a pillow beneath his hips.

“Spread your legs,” Emrys says. “Let me see.”

Arthur does, letting his thighs fall open for inspection. What would the people of Camelot think if they saw how easily their prince spread his legs for another man? He knows he should put up more of a fight, or at least _act_ like he’s unaffected. But Emrys is bloody gorgeous and Arthur is only a man. 

Emrys uncorks a vial of oil and tips it over Arthur’s cock. Arthur whimpers as the cool oil meets the heated length of his prick. The liquid slides down his shaft and over his balls, making a slow trek between his arsecheeks to pool at his entrance. 

Emrys closes a hand around Arthur’s cock and begins to pump him slowly. Arthur groans, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the pillow. Emrys grips him with the perfect amount of force, flicking his wrist on the upstroke and rubbing his palm over the head of Arthur’s cock.

“Ah…” he moans softly, thrusting his hips up into the tunnel of Emrys’s fingers. His fists the sheets beneath him. Already, his breathing grows laboured. His body feels too tight for his skin and his thighs quiver and flex. 

The prodding finger at his entrance takes him by surprise. Instinctively, he clenches against the intrusion. 

“Easy there,” Emrys says. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Wasn’t worried about that,” Arthur mutters, though he sort of was. But he’s not a girl, and he doesn’t need to be comforted and reassured through this—even if it is his first time. 

Emrys gives him a small, indulgent smile. He circles Arthur’s hole with a fingertip, his other hand still working his cock. It isn’t long before Arthur relaxes enough for him to squeeze a finger inside. It doesn’t hurt; it just feels… odd, a strange pressure that doesn’t belong there. Homosexuality is looked down upon in Camelot, but Arthur knows his knights engage in such acts during long campaigns, finding comfort and release in each other when no woman is available to them. Arthur has overheard the sounds of their sex while lying in his bedroll at night, ears burning and pretending to be asleep. He knows that some men learn to enjoy being penetrated. Being on the receiving end of it now, he doesn’t understand how this will feel good. 

He has to remind himself this is not for him. What’s important is that Emrys is satisfied. And if Emrys is satisfied with pulling Arthur off and sticking a finger up his arse, then he isn’t going to complain. It could be worse. 

It starts to get uncomfortable when Emrys adds a second finger. Arthur makes a face. His hole flutters around the digits inside him. 

“Relax,” Emrys soothes. “It will hurt less that way.”

“I know that.”

“Of course. I forgot you were an expert.”

“Shut up and get on with it,” Arthur grits out.

Emrys does shut up, but he takes his time, removing his fingers to coat them with more oil before easing them back in. Arthur inhales deeply in an attempt to relax. It is, admittedly, easier. He tries to focus on the loose fist that works his cock rather than the curling and spreading of the fingers inside him. 

Emrys has his lower lip rolled between his teeth. His brows are furrowed in concentration and he crooks his fingers this way and that as though— 

“Oh, gods!” Arthur yelps, jolting. He grinds down on Emrys’s fingers, trying to take them deeper so he can feel _that_ again—whatever that was. 

Emrys grins at him. “Found it,” he says triumphantly. 

“Do it again!” Arthur demands, spreading his legs. 

Emrys curls his fingers hard into that spot inside him and presses his thumb into the space behind Arthur’s balls. Arthur comes with a shout, his orgasm taking him by surprise. It crashes through him in an overwhelming wave that leaves him panting and his head spinning as he tries to reorient himself. His body twitches helplessly with the aftershocks of his pleasure. He realises he’s whimpering and he clamps his mouth shut. 

By the time Emrys takes out his cock, Arthur has already come twice. He can’t feel his legs and he hasn’t been able to catch his breath since the first time he spurted all over himself, Emrys’s talented hands quickly working him up to another peak. The second time, he had been made to come on Emrys’s fingers alone, not a single touch to his cock. Both his cock and hole feel tender, but at the sight of Emrys’s thick, weeping length, his own prick twitches in a valiant attempt to grow hard again. He inches his legs further apart.

Emrys notices. “Eager boy,” he murmurs, jerking himself off slowly. “Haven’t you had enough yet?” 

The words should sound like a taunt, like Emrys was calling him a whore, except it doesn’t. It sounds like _praise_.

Arthur follows the movement of Emrys’s hand with rapt attention. Emrys’s cock is flushed with blood, a dark red at the tip, and in beautiful contrast with his pale skin. Emrys pushes his thumb down the length of the cock as though milking out drops of his precome. Arthur doesn’t know if he can get hard again tonight, at least not without a bit of rest, but the thought of having that cock inside him… His gut clenches with want.

“On your side,” Emrys says.

A little too quick to obey, Arthur rolls onto his side. Arches his arse back in invitation. His spent cock lies limply on his thigh. He can hear his heart pounding somewhere in his head, its rhythm quickening when the mattress dips and Emrys settles in close behind him. Arthur shifts back into the heat of Emrys’s body. He can feel Emrys’s shaft throbbing hot on his bottom. 

Emrys exhales shakily, breath fanning over the skin of Arthur’s neck. He takes his cock in hand, runs it up and down the cleft of Arthur’s arse, teasing. Arthur’s buttocks flex in anticipation.

“Gods, this _arse_ of yours. I want—” Emrys groans. 

_Do it_ , Arthur thinks dazedly. A noise of assent rumbles in his throat. 

Emrys drags his cock down between Arthur’s arsecheeks and then presses forward, pushing his oil-slicked cock between Arthur’s thighs until the tip of it nudges his balls. 

“Press your thighs together,” Emrys says. “Harder.” 

Arthur does. “Aren’t you—aren’t you going to,” he stammers, unable to force his question out. He doesn’t want to sound like he’s begging. 

“Not tonight,” Emrys says, pressing his nose to the patch of skin behind Arthur’s ear. “You’re too sensitive now. It will hurt you.”

Arthur is oddly disappointed.

Emrys winds his arm around Arthur’s torso, keeping him in place as he begins to rock his hips. His palm slides down Arthur’s belly to cup his crotch. He doesn’t stroke it, just holds it there, proprietary. 

“I’ll have you in the morning,” Emrys promises in a low rasp that has Arthur shivering. “While you’re pliant with sleep. I’m going to put you on your stomach and fuck you awake.” He rolls his hips as he speaks and Arthur imagines what it might feel like to have Emrys’s hips moving the same way with his cock inside Arthur instead.

“There are so many things, Prince Arthur, that I want to do to you. I want to make use of that mouth of yours. I want to show you how good a man’s mouth can feel around your cock. I want to see how many times I can make you come in a single night.”

Arthur whimpers, thighs clamping around the prick between them. He shouldn’t be looking forward to this, but god help him—he is. 

Emrys must have been on edge this entire time because it takes only two, three more thrusts before he’s coming with a groan. His cock shoots warm come over Arthur’s thighs. 

They lie there for a moment, catching their breaths. Emrys pants hotly into Arthur’s neck. Worn and satiated by his orgasm, Arthur’s eyelids begin to droop. Emrys mutters a few words. A tingling wave passes through Arthur, cleaning him of sweat and come. It’s a testament to how relaxed he feels that he barely startles.

Eventually, with Emrys’s hand still cradling his cock, Arthur drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT HAPPENS NEXT  
> * They fuck—a lot. Arthur learns that he has a bit of a submissive streak. He likes it when Emrys gets a little rough with him and his pleasure skirts pain; he likes pleasing Emrys more than he is willing to admit; and he likes it when Emrys holds him in place with his magic.  
> * They get to know each other outside of the bedroom, and Arthur finds himself charmed by this Emrys who doesn’t give a damn about nobles and that one day, Arthur will be the most powerful man in Camelot. Emrys is gentle, hilarious (not that Arthur will ever tell him that), and gormless at times, and Arthur thinks he might be in trouble.  
> * They fall in love, duh. Then there’s lots of pining while fucking! Arthur tries to reconcile his distrust of magic with his burgeoning feelings for Emrys. They’ve always had physically intense sex, but now it’s emotionally intense too, edged with yearning.  
> * There are really dumb misunderstandings. Emrys feels guilty about forcing Arthur to sleep with him, because he thinks that Arthur would never give him the time of day otherwise. So he stops initiating sex with Arthur. Arthur is confused by the sudden lack of interest, and he worries that Emrys has grown tired of him. But he’d be damned if he shows he’s hurt by this, so he begins to distance himself, too. Naturally, this only makes Emrys think that Arthur doesn’t care for him.  
> * But, of course, they can’t keep away from each other for long. Feelings are spilt and there’s lots of mushy kisses and sexy times!
> 
> lmao that got away from me… Anyways, come say hi to me on [tumblr!](http://lillupon.tumblr.com)


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